The oak
by Phai
Summary: 316 BC Olympias' last thougts. Sorry for my English mistakes, I haven't a beta yet. Thank you for reviews.


The oak- Pella, Makedonia, 316 BC

I heard the dissonant voices of the old oak's leaves, when I'm standing myself up to the tree, closing my eyes, searching to find my heartbeat again.

Soon I will die. I pray the Gods, my Dyonisus, my Demether that my spirit'll come to this tree and breath again. I heard the crowd near by, in the odeion. They are all at Kassander's side, he bought them some times ago… Maybe, it have no importance, the man of Macedons've never understood me. They hate me, 'cause a free women inspires fear. And, yes, I'm free like a snake hidden in the earth, like the fertility of my womb. None of the gods, nor being queen makes me free: I'm free 'cause I know my powers , I can read the sky and the stars, I heard the wind, I understand the trees, I talk to the Mather-Goddes, Gaia, who protect the women… and my limits: I lost.

And now I remember the spring-time sweetness, when I was loved by a strong one-eyed man and I carried my first child.

Alexandros, my dear son… How many times I sang you some old lullabies under this oak? There was the tale of the little bird and the black rook, or I thought the Bacchae's peanas. And the bird sang in the wind with me and all smells of good… Me too was a child.

How many times, dear leaves, did you heard me cry in pain, when the king denied me for another love, women or men? When I saw him drunken, tangled in Kleitos' black eyes?

My Alexandros grew up and always came to you, dear oak, he sung Homer's verses with his high-pitched voice and I watched him from my nearest window in the gyneceum. I loved you, my son. I still love you.

It's for love I murdered your crazy father, who mined your great future. I never admitted it to you, 'cause I knew this could had drive you crazy. But your rational half, your conscience, Hephaistion, understood and kept the secret in silence.

He loved you, Alexandros, so much, his love unforgivable, dirty and by the way so pure, like mine. I didn't like him. Sometimes I pried to this oak, where you laid in the nights, under your pallion and kiss, caress and make love each other the whole night, that a branch'll crumbled in his head and broke it, but really I didn't want it. I knew if he died you'll died. And now, you two are a pinch of dust.

Did you remember my chocked tears when finally Pausania, poor, stupid, heart-blessed, blind boy, killed my husband? When all was over I came here to find some peace. All the time I felt so lonely and sad, every time I would cry, I came here to open my sadness and to recover, regain my usually coldness.

I was sad when Alexandros married that barbarian princess, Roxane. I cried cold tears, I didn't know the true pain. This time.

Do you know? I kept her in prison in Pydna, thinking to kill her few years ago and I'm not ashame. You'd do the same.

I begun to feel something new, and darker when you returned from India. I couldn't sleep well for nights, and I came to this place where the daimon of the tree told me to be courageous. When your true love- I must admit this now, is he you have loved the most during your life, far more than your wifes or your horse and more than me- fell ill, I realised that soon I'd lost you.

When he died I cried for him and for you a horrible threnos of loud screams. That day, my hair became white. I sacrificed to the Hade's demons to blind and bold his screaming soul, stopping from waiting or searching for you. By the way, you stayed with his corpse, you made love so many times with it, that yourself sign your condemn to the House of Death.

And nine months later you died. I was prepared, but the pain was so unreal, like a nightmare, so terrible, I couldn't manage. I thought to die, I went to you, oak, with a bloody-red silk cord in my hands, all shining-white dressed, like the day my son became King… But you shook yourself so hard that the silk tired apart and I fell to the floor…

I've lived a few less than another ten years. I've been queen again in Macedonia and Epirus. I try to preserve a part of you. It's true, I pat in prisons your 13 years old son. And soon Kassander'll kill him too. Forgive him: he wasn't your son, he was only hers and some wild soldier's.

When I'll be in Tartaros, don't ask me why, please. A mother know so many truths…

Maybe I'm so aged, you will not recognise me.

Maybe, I'll not find you, maybe you really are with the Gods in the Olympus… the true son of Zeus. I hope you aren't.

Maybe your are in the Happy's islands, with your soul-mate and your heroes, Achillles and Patroklos.

Maybe, I would able to see your flashing smile from the darkest place, Alexandros.

Some soldiers take me by the wrists. It's time for me to go.

Sweet oak of Pella,

Please,

For your daimon,

You who keep the energy from the Mother-Goddess

You who bring life to she sun-burned soil

You who send your leaves to the sky

I pray you,

Tell to the timeless world

The sad story

Of Olympias from Epirus

And his beloved child.

09/08/06


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